


In Focus

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Double Anal Penetration, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Facials, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Video Cameras, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Togano and Kuroki had been content enough to continue with the plan the four of them agreed on originally, but when Jumonji had shown up with the weight of a camera bag slung over his shoulder Taki had gone hot all over, like the sun was trying to rise inside his chest and burning him to steam." Taki makes plans with the trio and Jumonji brings an addition he appreciates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scaluwag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaluwag/gifts).



Taki likes the camera.

It was Jumonji’s idea. Togano and Kuroki had been content enough to continue with the plan the four of them agreed on originally, but when Jumonji had shown up with the weight of a camera bag slung over his shoulder Taki had gone hot all over, like the sun was trying to rise inside his chest and burn him to steam. Jumonji’s smile was slow, a dark, shadowed thing layered over into promise, and he had touched Taki’s face, just a glancing blow of fingertips to chin before turning away to set up the tripod while Kuroki tugged at Taki’s jacket to strip it off his shoulders.

Taki hadn’t protested. He has nothing to protest in the first place, not when the idea of what the others are going to do to him has been keeping him half-hard all day, but by the time Togano was reaching to unfasten the fly of Taki’s pants and Jumonji was sliding the lens cap off Taki was breathing too hard to even attempt to hide his reaction, trembling with adrenaline until Kuroki had pushed him face-down against the floor rather than bothering with trying to steady him upright.

That’s where he is now, still, although it’s been some unmeasured period of time since he went down; Taki hasn’t bothered to straighten himself to sit up, not when he can blink through the tangle of his hair and see the focused way Jumonji is watching the reel of the video from the other side of the camera. He hasn’t touched Taki except for that first contact, hasn’t even opened his jeans, but Taki keeps looking at the front of the fabric, trying to tell if he’s going hard yet from what he’s seeing, trying to figure out what it is Jumonji is going to do to him here.

“Damn,” Kuroki says from behind him, and his knee slides farther forward between Taki’s, the pressure of his weight urging the other’s thighs wider apart. “He really _is_ as flexible as he says he is.”

“I told you he was,” Jumonji says without looking up. Taki wonders where the screen is pointed, if the lens is tracking the tangle of hair falling around his face or the boneless slump of his shoulders or maybe the sweat-slick skin of his thighs, following the rhythm of Kuroki’s hips rocking against him as the other’s cock slides into his ass. “Give him another finger, Kuroki.”

“Are you sure he can take it?” Togano asks from over Kuroki’s shoulder. He’s been watching with skepticism clear on his face, forehead creased on what looks as much like curiosity as it does concern. “He’s pretty tight already.”

“I can,” Taki manages to croak from the floor. It’s true that Kuroki’s finger pressed inside him alongside his cock is a stretch, offering a pressure he can feel all the way up his spine like a weight bearing down on him, but it’s also true that the pressure is nothing compared to the ache in his own cock, nothing next to the heat flushing his skin pink enough for the color to show even on Jumonji’s camera. “Give it to me.”

“Kazu?” Kuroki asks, all but ignoring Taki’s groaned agreement in favor of looking up to Jumonji watching them.

“He can take it,” Jumonji says without looking away from the screen. Taki wonders if Jumonji can see the way he’s stretching with each forward stroke of Kuroki’s hips, wonders if Jumonji is zoomed in close against the slick clinging to Taki’s skin as Kuroki fucks into him against the pressure of his finger. “Give it to him.”

Kuroki draws back, sliding the width of his dick all the way out of Taki’s body. Taki groans against the floor, whimpering protest even though he knows what’s coming next, even as Kuroki slides two fingers into him easy, the pressure minimal compared to the stretch that was opening Taki up moments before. The pressure feels good, angled differently than Kuroki’s thrusts and bringing an accompanying surge of heat with it, but Taki still feels the absence of the other’s cock, still whines and rocks back for more even as Kuroki spreads his fingers apart to press him open around his touch.

“You’re right,” Togano says, and Taki looks away from Jumonji for a moment, tilts his head back and up so he can see the considering look Togano is giving him, can see the other’s eyebrows raise as he watches Kuroki’s fingers slide into Taki’s body. “Fuck him again, Kuroki.”

“I _am_ ,” Kuroki growls. “Give me a second, jeez.” But he’s shifting his fingers anyway, flattening them alongside each other and drawing them to one side, and Taki is panting for breath that won’t come around the tension of anticipation in his chest. Kuroki’s cock presses against him, the head slick with lube and hot to the touch, and for a moment Taki can feel the strain in his spine, can feel the force of Kuroki’s motion stall against the reflexive resistance of his body. Kuroki grunts protest, grabbing at Taki’s hip with his other hand, and then he pulls backwards so sharply that Taki slides back by an inch without intending to, and that does it. Kuroki dips into him, the width of his cock pushing Taki open alongside his fingers, and Taki groans hot and low as Kuroki rocks his hips forward and forces deeper by an inch. The stretch is intense, Taki can feel the heat of it running all up the length of his spine, but Togano is exclaiming in impressed shock and Jumonji is humming encouragement and the camera is still rolling, tracking the slick weight of Kuroki pushing Taki open around his cock and fingers at the same time.

“He’s so hard,” Togano observes. There’s movement in Taki’s periphery, Togano shifting alongside him, and then a touch against his cock, the exploration of fingers brushing against the slick at the head. “Damn, Kazu, is he gonna come just from getting fucked?”

“He has before,” Jumonji tells him, and Taki shudders as Kuroki’s cock sinks fully into him, as Kuroki takes a breath to brace himself before he starts to slide out for another stroke. “You can probably manage it between you.”

“Shit,” Togano says. “Here, Kuroki, let me.” Kuroki slides his fingers free, dragging friction as he goes, and Togano shifts again, coming around Taki’s body until Taki can’t see any of him but his knees at the floor as the other settles in behind him. There’s the sound of movement, the click of a plastic lid and the wet slick of lube catching on itself, and then a cooler touch than Kuroki’s, fingertips pressing against Taki’s entrance in search of traction. Taki whines, a wordless sound as much plea as protest, and Togano’s finger slides into him, pushing against Kuroki’s cock as he forces a second alongside the first.

“Fuck,” Togano breathes. “He’s so fucking tight.”

“Yeah,” Kuroki agrees. His hands are gripping hard at Taki’s hips, now, drawing the other back and bracing him against the long forward strokes the other is taking. “Move your hand, Toga, open him up wider.”

“I’m moving,” Togano protests, and he is, Taki can feel the shift of his fingers as he thrusts deeper out-of-time with the rhythm of Kuroki’s hips. “You getting this, Kazu?”

“I’m getting it,” Jumonji says, his voice heavy and dark like a storm on the horizon, and Taki shudders involuntarily, his whole body shaking as if with electricity. “Give him a third.”

“He can’t--” Kuroki starts.

“Give it to him,” Jumonji insists. “You want your turn too, Toga, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Togano says, his voice straining on anticipation.

“I can do it,” Taki manages against the floor, though he’s not sure anyone’s listening to him anymore. He barely recognizes his voice for how strained it is, for how low it’s dropped on the heat surging through his blood with every slide of Kuroki’s cock or Togano’s fingers inside him. “I can take it.”

“Here,” Togano says, and he’s easing his fingers apart, the extra width stretching until Taki gasps with the pressure, until his breathing is straining into a moan with every exhale. His legs are shaking, his whole body thrumming helplessly with strain; he can feel the ache inside him from too-much pressure, his nerve endings protesting the stretch even as his cock jumps towards his stomach, even as another spill of precome trickles over the head. Kuroki is still moving inside him, thrusting himself into a slow rhythm, but Taki can’t keep his legs steady, can’t keep his knees braced on the floor. Every tremor that runs through him slides his legs farther apart, drops his body closer to the ground, until finally it’s Kuroki who hisses protest and drags hard at his hips to pull him back upright.

“Stay there,” he says, but Taki’s knees are sliding apart again, his body too liquid-hot for him to keep himself anything like upright. His thighs slide open, his cock bumps against the floor, and that wins a groan from his throat, brings his hips jerking forward in reflexive attempt for friction. Kuroki groans behind him, Togano coughs a laugh, and Jumonji says “Do it” in a tone Taki’s never heard from him before, with a weird low resonance down in the inside of his chest like the words are echoing against his ribs before they come out.

“Already?” Togano asks. Taki rocks himself forward again, grinding his cock against the floor; his thoughts are swirling hot and hazy in his mind, his attention too fractured by the strain inside him and the tension in his cock to track the importance of what’s being said.

“Yeah.” Jumonji, again. “Pick him up.”

Taki wants to turn his head, wants to look up to see how Jumonji is looking at him for his voice to sound like that, but when he shifts his hair is in his face, gold strands tangling in front of his eyes until he can’t see, until when he inhales the locks catch at his lips. He exhales hard, tries to spit the obstruction clear of his mouth, and he’s just lifting a hand to try to pull his hair away from his face when Kuroki’s hold on his hips tightens and his whole body lifts up off the ground. There’s a hand at his shoulder, fingers pushing to shove him upright, and then Taki realizes Togano’s fingers are out of him, that he must have pulled free at some point, because he’s pushing Taki off the floor now instead. Taki’s hazy on his balance, heavy with the slack weight of heat, but Togano pushes him past upright and back until he’s tipped against the support of Kuroki’s chest. That makes Taki blink, his dizzy mind reaching for clarity as he finally manages to push his hair aside, and then Togano is pushing his knees open and sliding to fit his hips into the spread of them, and by the time Taki looks down Togano has his jeans undone and is pushing his clothes free of his cock.

“Yes,” Taki says aloud, the word coming hot and slick against his tongue as Togano reaches for the bottle of lube and upends a glossy spill of liquid across the heat of his cock. His dick is a little shorter than Kuroki’s, the base of his cock a little wider; Taki reaches for Togano’s shoulder before he’s let his stroking hold on himself go, is pulling to urge him closer before Togano has reached for his hip. “Yeah, give it to me, _yes_.”

“Fuck,” Togano says without looking up. When he reaches it’s for Taki’s knee to shove his leg up and sideways; Taki can feel the stretch in the joint, can feel the pleasant-warm ache of the angle running down the inside of his thigh. “Hold him still, Kuroki.”

“I’m trying,” Kuroki protests, his mouth so close to Taki’s ear that his breathing catches against the strands. “He’s _heavy_.”

“Yes,” Taki says again, bracing at Togano’s shoulder as the other comes in, as his expression sets into a frown of concentration while he fits his knees alongside Kuroki’s under the weight of Taki’s open thighs. “Yes, _fuck_ me, _do_ it.”

“Shut up,” Togano says. “Don’t you _ever_ stop talking?”

“I bet he will once we’re fucking him,” Kuroki suggests, and Taki’s whole body goes hot just with anticipation at the words. “Come on, Toga.”

“I _am_ ,” Togano insists, and then the head of his cock bumps against Taki’s entrance and Taki groans involuntarily, his entire chest flexing hard against the heat of want that swamps his coherency. “I’m almost there, just.” His hips come forward, his cock catches and slides over skin, and Taki whines, his legs trembling against the hold Togano and Kuroki have on him as if he can somehow control the motion of the other two trying to fit inside him. Kuroki hisses, Togano grunts, and then there’s friction, a moment of traction as the very tip of Togano’s cock catches against Taki’s entrance. Taki takes a breath, tastes the strain of hope hot on his tongue; and Togano shoves into him hard, pushing the head of his cock into the other in a single burst of motion. Taki’s eyes go wide, his spine arches, but Togano’s inside him now, far enough that even Taki’s first reflexive jerk of response isn’t enough to push him free.

“Holy fuck,” Togano gasps. Kuroki doesn’t say anything; he’s stopped moving, is just holding Taki still and breathing hard against his hair, but Taki barely notices the cessation of movement for the stretch of Togano forcing into him, of Togano grinding himself deeper by half-inches with each push of his hips. “Fuck, he’s taking me, I can’t goddamn believe it.”

“I can feel you moving,” Kuroki says over Taki’s shoulder. “Jesus, this is fucking incredible.”

“Are you getting this?” Togano asks, looking up, and Taki remembers what he had forgotten in the first rush of heat as Togano’s cock stretched him open, and turns his head against Kuroki’s shoulder to see the black lens of the camera focused on him.

“Yeah,” Jumonji says. He’s staring at the camera screen and not at Taki, his eyes gone so dark the shadows have eclipsed their natural color. When he shifts it’s to adjust his jeans, to resettle the weight of them against his hips; the movement draws Taki’s attention, fixes his heat-hazed stare on the weight at the front of Jumonji’s jeans, on the tension of his hard cock pressing against the fabric. “I’m getting it.”

“This is fucking hot,” Togano manages, and then he shoves his hips forward and Taki can feel the extra width at the base of his cock stretch him open and shudder reaction up his spine until he’s left gasping and shaking, held off the floor by the support of Kuroki and Togano’s holds and the flushed heat of their cocks inside him. “Can you move?”

 _No_ , Taki wants to say, but “Yeah,” Kuroki answers, and Taki realizes Togano wasn’t talking to him as Kuroki rocks his hips back to slide out by a half-inch before thrusting back into Taki. There’s no relief granted by the movement; with Togano inside him Taki’s held open even as Kuroki slides back, until the motion just seems to force him open wider than he was before. Togano groans appreciation, rocks himself through a half-stroke of his own, and then Kuroki moves again, fitting his movements to Togano’s on some unspoken signal. Taki’s breathing stalls in his chest, his lungs empty themselves into a drawn-out groan of raw heat, and the movement inside him is coming easier, his body opening to the demands of the other’s movements as Kuroki and Togano find a pattern to the thrusts they’re taking. Taki’s hands are braced into desperate holds at Togano’s shoulders but Togano’s not looking at him; his head is tipped down, his mouth open on the heat of his breathing and the effort of his motion, and from the sound of Kuroki gasping behind Taki’s shoulder the other is no better. Taki’s legs are still spread wide, his cock swollen and slick with precome, but other than the occasional friction against the edge of Togano’s shirt he’s getting no relief for the ache in his balls any more than he is for the strain of the stretch inside him.

“Here,” a voice says, and Taki’s head falls back, his attention caught butterfly-quick by the purr of that voice. It’s Jumonji, looking straight at him instead of at the camera, and there’s a rush of heat that pours down Taki’s spine, there’s a moan in his throat at having someone’s eyes on him directly. Togano and Kuroki are panting for air, the width of their cocks sliding deep into him with each thrust, but it’s Jumonji watching the tension flicker across Taki’s face, Jumonji who’s been watching from the other side of the camera this whole time. The thought makes Taki flush warm and twitches heat into his cock,and then Jumonji steps sideways, around the tripod holding the camera up and closer to where Taki is gasping for superheated air. Togano glances up at him for a moment, the turn of his head enough to catch attention from Taki’s periphery, but then Jumonji reaches for Taki’s hair and Taki forgets about Togano and Kuroki entirely except as the source of the rhythmic motion filling him with straining heat. It’s Jumonji he’s looking at, Jumonji whose fingers are winding into his hair with something between a pull and a stroke, and when the other pulls it’s to Jumonji Taki capitulates, letting the force of the fist in his hair draw his head back and his throat straining.

“Good,” Jumonji tells him. “You look good, Natsuhiko.” He reaches out with his free hand, stretching for the camera still set on the tripod. “Want to see?”

Taki doesn’t have the words to answer, though the groan he offers from the depths of his chest is likely more than enough response even if Jumonji were waiting for him to reply. But he’s already bracing his hand against the display screen and twisting the extension around to click into a new orientation, and when Taki blinks he can see himself as the camera is recording him, with his eyes glazed and his mouth parted as Jumonji drags his hair back. The angle is too close-up to catch the full detail of what’s happening at his hips, but there’s a faint rhythm to his movement, his shoulders jolting through waves of action that are obscenely suggestive even without the sprawled-open angle of his legs braced as they are by the other two’s hands.

“Don’t you look good?” Jumonji asks him, and Taki swallows hard, watches the line of his throat work on the movement as Jumonji’s fingers slide deeper into his hair to hold him steady. He’s reaching for his jeans, now; Taki’s attention slides off the camera screen for a moment, pinning itself instead to the angle of Jumonji’s fingers as he drags his fly open and parts the denim around the heat of his cock. He’s as hard as he looked before, the head of his cock flushed dark and slick with arousal; Taki parts his lips involuntarily, touches his tongue to his lips in expectation as Jumonji curls his hand around his cock and tenses his fingers against the base. Taki tries to tilt his head forward, tries to reach to lap the salt off the head, but the fist still in his hair stops him before he moves more than an inch, holds him steady even as Jumonji takes a step in and angles his hips out in the direction of the camera.

“Not your mouth,” he says, and then he starts to stroke, his fingers working up over his length as Taki’s breathing stalls into a whine, as his legs tense and tremble involuntarily for traction he can’t get positioned as he is. “Watch the camera, Natsuhiko.”

Taki blinks away from the drag of Jumonji’s hand over himself, his attention slipping sideways as ordered; and then he sees the image displayed by the camera, and he groans again, loud this time, loud enough that the video must surely pick it up. He looks debauched, his eyes half-lidded and his hair tangled around his face; Jumonji’s hand in his hair is steady on the strands, fisting against the locks to pull him back until Taki can see his throat working on strain with every breath he takes. His shoulders are still rocking, still telegraphing the stretch of Kuroki and Togano fucking into him, and Jumonji’s hand is working at the edge of the frame to draw friction over the flush of his cock angled towards Taki’s face. Taki can see the red flush of his lips, can see the wet drag of his tongue as he tries helplessly to reach for a taste of the salt clinging to Jumonji’s skin; he looks desperate, looks filthy, looks like he’s so undone even all this isn’t enough to satisfy him. And after all it’s true; Taki’s cock is aching, thrumming so hard against his stomach he can feel every beat of his heart against the length, and even the stretch in him isn’t enough to quite push him over the edge into satisfaction. Jumonji is watching him, his eyes dark and hot and determined, and Taki is watching himself, can’t look away even when Jumonji’s hand speeds into telltale rush over his length. His cock is dark in the camera image, the flushed heat of it divorced from any meaning but _sex_ , and then Jumonji’s fingers tighten in Taki’s hair and he groans and there’s a spurt of liquid and stripes of white falling sticky across Taki’s face. Taki can watch it in the camera, can see the pulses of orgasm run through Jumonji and spill across his flushed features, and he’s moaning helplessly, licking against the corner of his mouth where a droplet of come has caught. It’s in his hair, on his eyelashes, dripping against his cheek to trail along his jaw, and then Jumonji lets his hair go, and draws his hand away, and leaves Taki to stare at himself in the camera for a moment while he pulls his clothes back into place.

Taki doesn’t look away. His eyes are darker than they’ve ever been before, his mouth redder; he doesn’t even recognize himself for the slack heat of desire in his features knocking his expression open and panting for more. There’s a droplet of liquid following the angle of his jaw; as he stares it trickles against his skin, catching at the edge of his chin before falling to splatter wet against his collarbone.

“You look good,” Jumonji tells him, and Taki blinks away from the camera again, his focus swinging back to the other. Jumonji’s kneeling right in front of him, still staring at him even as Kuroki gasps something unintelligible over Taki’s shoulder and Togano groans overheated response. “Keep watching.”

Taki is happy to obey. He lets his gaze slide sideways, locks eyes with his own image in the camera, and there’s a touch against his stomach, Jumonji’s hand fitting into the gap between Taki’s chest and Togano’s. Taki gasps an inhale, his spine tensing anticipation, and then Jumonji’s fingers drag against him and his whole body jerks reflexive reaction. Togano hisses, Kuroki chokes, and Jumonji’s gripping against Taki’s cock, a rush of friction following the slide of his fingers. Taki moans, helpless and hot and shadowed with relief, and behind him Kuroki shudders “He’s too--” and comes spilling heat into the open stretch of Taki’s body. It makes Taki groan, makes his mouth fall into an open slur of sound he can see in the camera, and Togano is moving faster, setting a pace that makes Kuroki hiss reaction to the drag of friction as Togano’s cock slides against his while he’s still twitching through aftershocks. Jumonji’s still moving, jerking up over Taki with the same quick intention he showed to himself, and Taki’s straining, now, his toes curling and his spine arching and his voice breaking, his chest flexing hard on the effort breathing costs him. Togano’s cock slides deep, Jumonji’s hand comes up -- and Taki convulses, his entire body seizing tight for a moment as his cock spurts hot liquid halfway up the arch of his chest. He’s shaking but there’s no traction to be gained against the grip of Togano and Kuroki’s hands on him, no motion he can win under the pace Jumonji’s hand sets over him; all that’s left for him is moaning hot into the air, his vision hazing into trembling white as he shudders against the support of the other three. Jumonji’s laughing, the low purr of sound that always sounds so much like a suggestion formed into noise, and Taki is still coming, spilling sticky over himself with each drag of Jumonji’s hand. Togano’s moving faster, breathing so hard every exhale comes out as a groan in time with his thrusts, and then his hips snap forward and Taki jerks again, the surge of heat from the friction jolting a last quiver of reaction through him as Togano gasps and his cock pulses deep inside the other’s body. Taki’s hot all over, his skin sticky and slick with sweat everywhere he considers; Kuroki’s breathing hard against the back of his neck, Togano’s forehead is pressed against his collarbone, and Jumonji’s hand is still tight around him, bracing against the heat easing itself out of Taki’s spent cock as he leans in closer. Taki’s head tips sideways, he blinks himself to a moment of clarity; the camera is still trained on his face, still capturing each breath as it rushes from his lungs. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his whole face is flushed pink with heat; his lips are swollen, his eyes glazed, his expression slack with the echo of the pleasure still thrumming through his body.

“Natsuhiko,” Jumonji purrs, and Taki looks back, dragging his attention away from the camera to meet the liquid heat of Jumonji’s gaze. Kuroki and Togano are still catching their breath but Jumonji is smiling, the focus in his eyes even more alluring than the disinterested attention offered by the camera. Taki whines, touches his tongue involuntarily to his lips, and Jumonji’s other hand comes out to his hair, his fingers tangling into the strands to hold Taki’s head still against the support of Kuroki’s shoulder. “You did good.” And he leans in, rocking up on his knees to catch Taki’s mouth with his, to press the sticky of his come between the heat of their lips. Taki lets his body rely on Togano and Kuroki’s support, lets his head fall against Jumonji’s hold, and when Jumonji licks at his mouth he parts his lips to let the faint bitter of Jumonji’s come slide against the heat of his tongue.

By the time he shuts his eyes, he’s forgotten all about the camera.


End file.
